Sway (Landry Family 1)

“What’s that?”

“It was kind of cool,” he admits.

Shaking my head, I can’t help but laugh. “No, it’s not.”

“It kind of is. They wanted my picture. I feel like a rock star or something.”

“You’re too young to be a rock star,” I point out, trying to ease the fear that’s still crippling my heart. “Now go put your bag up and let me figure this out.”

He kisses his grandma’s cheek and goes into his room, shutting the door softly behind him. I look at my mother.

“Things like this are going to happen,” she says. “Barrett is too big of a catch not to think no one is going to pay attention.”

“I can’t go through this again, Mom. And not with Huxley.”

“There are tradeoffs to everything, sweetie. It’s up to you to decide what you can and can’t handle.”

Rubbing my forehead, I lean against the wall. “Think of all the things that could’ve happened. I don’t want his face on a magazine or his name in papers. But . . . what if he tried to kidnap him, Mom?”

A tear trickles down my face at the thought.

“Every child has that risk, Alison. When your baby goes out the door, you run the risk of something tragic happening. It’s a part of life.”

“But does putting Huxley in the public eye make him more of a target?”

Her response is cut off by my phone ringing. I look down to see that it’s Barrett.

“I’m going to go,” Mom says. “I need to call the police station back. They’ll probably call you too and make sure he’s okay. I’ll be back in an hour or so to watch Huxley when you go to work.”

I nod and let her see herself out while I pick up the call. “Hey,” I say.

“Hey, baby,” he replies. The sound of his voice soothes me, makes my nerves ease just a bit. “How are you?”

I sigh and he picks up on my mood immediately.

“What’s wrong, Alison?”

“Mom just dropped Hux off. Apparently someone was taking his picture today.”

“What the fuck?” he booms. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah.”

His fury is palpable and knowing he’s as angry as I am makes me relieved in a weird way.

“Who was it? Did you call the police?”

“Mom did and the guy is at the station.”

“I’m going down there,” he bites out.

“No, you aren’t. Let them handle it.”

He groans through the line, but that’s the only sound for a long while. We both seem to be mulling over the situation—him trying to fix it, me trying to absorb it.

“I’ll make sure we make an example of him,” he breathes, anger laced with every word. “I’ll have his name and face ran through the mud every which way. Trust me.”

The tears flow again, the fear resurging. I let out a little whimper, and I can hear him on the other end responding.